Trail Ride (13 page)

She hit the earth with bone-jarring impact. Searing pain ripped through her shoulder. She slipped, rolled, and skidded the rest of the way to the bottom, dragging
a small avalanche of rocks and debris with her. At some point she felt her head collide with a rock and everything went black.

Sometime later she woke up, facedown in the dirt. It took a while before she could muster enough strength to roll over and lift her face to the night sky. Her breath coming in ragged gasps, she struggled to stay conscious. Gingerly she began to check herself out. Every inch of her body was in pain, but she was fairly certain that nothing was broken. She forced herself to her knees, the world swimming before her eyes, and promptly threw up.

Finally, when the violent stomach contractions had subsided and she could once again draw little gasps of cool air, she climbed wearily to her feet and looked around. Stewball was standing not far from her. She staggered over and threw grateful arms around his neck, bursting into tears. Before she knew it she was crying almost hysterically against him. Between racking sobs, she heard herself muttering praises of undying gratitude. Stewball seemed to take it all in stride.

Eventually she managed to pull herself together enough to once more climb into the saddle, shaking with shock and muscles like jelly. With utter weariness she picked up the reins and slumped forward in the
saddle. She had no idea in what direction the Bar None lay, but she wasn’t worried about it.

“Take me home, Stewball,” she murmured into his dirt-encrusted mane.

Stewball did as he was told.

S
TEVIE THOUGHT SHE
was going to die. At the very least, she was on the verge of a major breakdown.

She had endured an entire day of hanging out with long-lost relatives who, unfortunately, wouldn’t stay that way. She couldn’t begin to remember all the names of the people to whom she had been introduced. After a while she’d stopped trying and simply did her best to be polite. “Nice to meet you.” “My pleasure.” “Thank you very much.”

Then there was the never-ending rehearsal dinner, a huge feast at one of the best local restaurants, where the food and the wine had flowed nonstop and the conversations had gone on and on and on.

“Is that your brother?”

“Yes, we’re twins.”

“Fraternal or identical?”

Gee, since he’s a boy and I’m a girl
…

“Remember me, honey? I used to powder your behind when you were a baby.”

Great. Like I could remember that, or would even want to.

Dressed in their best, the guests flitted like colorful birds from one table to another. Stevie had tried to be social. She chatted dutifully with anyone who addressed her, but every conversation sounded the same.

“Who do you belong to?”

She would point out her mom and dad and explain their connection with the bride.

“How nice. Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“You look very pretty in that outfit.”

“Thank you.” Actually, she loathed her clothes: a knee-length, bottle green velvet skirt with matching short jacket and an awful taffeta chartreuse cummerbund.

Next would come an awkward silence as the adult of the moment searched around for something else to say. “What do you want to be when you grow up?”

“I want to do something with horses,” she would tell them seriously, hoping someone in the party might
actually like riding. But invariably her answer was met with polite smiles of disinterest.

“Oh, horses. How nice, dear.”

Then they would excuse themselves.

Stevie figured they were going to find someone more interesting to talk to. She didn’t seem to have anything in common with anyone.

By the end of the evening she was desperate to get back to the hotel and tuck herself in bed. The sooner this day was over, the sooner the next one would start, bringing her family’s departure for home that much closer.

She checked her watch for the millionth time. Had the hands even moved? She held it to her ear to see if it was still running. Unfortunately, it was.

Finally, to Stevie’s immense relief, people started to leave.

“Honey, get your coat. We’re going now,” her mother told her.

Stevie’s heart leaped. If they hurried, she’d still have time to catch one of her favorite shows on television back at the hotel.

“The Sinclairs have invited us back to their house so we can go on talking,” her mom continued. “Isn’t that nice?”

Stevie was speechless with dismay.

An hour later she was absolutely at the end of her
rope. Avoiding Dava in the house became a full-time job. She finally found refuge in an upstairs bedroom and sat staring out the window. The memory of Honey and Sugar beckoned. They were right there, just beyond the trees. She had to get away. She went in search of her mother.

“Mom, I’m going for a walk, okay?”

Her mother looked out the window at the periodic bright streaks that pierced the darkness and frowned at the murmur of distant thunder. “I don’t know, Stevie. It’s getting pretty late, and the weather …”

“Please, Mom, I don’t think it’s going to rain. I won’t go far and I won’t be long, but I have to get out of here for a little while. Please!”

Maybe it was the note of desperation in her voice, or maybe it was because her mother realized how hard Stevie had tried, all day, to make her proud. At last, her mother relented. “All right, go ahead. You’ve earned a little respite.”

Stevie felt a rush of relief. “Thanks, Mom,” she said, kissing her on the cheek.

Her mother looked pleased. “Not too long, though. Tomorrow’s the big day, and we all need to get some rest.”

Stevie nodded her agreement even as she fled. The instant she closed the front door behind her she felt better.

She checked her watch.
Mom’s right, it is getting late. There’s no way Will will be around, but I bet he wouldn’t mind if I just looked at his horses.

She hurried down the road as fast as her new shoes would let her. Every now and then another streak of lightning would flare, followed by thunder washing across the distance like an incoming wave.
I feel like I’m in a science-fiction movie. Any moment now the carrot creature will leap out and try to kill me!
Stevie laughed at her outrageous imagination. Nonetheless, she didn’t linger as she passed the spooky old cemetery.

In a few minutes she was at the paddock, looking around eagerly for the horses. Her spirits fell when she didn’t see them.
Maybe they put them in the barn because of the weather. Animals can get very skittish during storms.

She was about to give up and go home when she got an idea. Pursing her lips, she whistled, doing her best to imitate the tune Will had used to call the horses.

To her delight she heard an answering whinny. Apparently the animals were over the hill just out of her sight. She whistled again and waited hopefully. Her patience was rewarded as Honey trotted into view.

“Hey, beautiful,” she called, holding out a hand. “Come here, sweety.”

Honey hesitated at the top of the rise.

Stevie whistled again softly, careful not to make any sudden moves.

Honey came toward her and stopped a few feet from the fence, still tantalizingly out of reach. The horse nickered and looked back over its shoulder in the direction from which it had come.

“Where’s Sugar?” Stevie asked, keeping her arm out-stretched.

Honey pawed the ground.

To Stevie’s experienced eye, the horse looked agitated. “Don’t be scared,” she said in her most reassuring voice. “The storm won’t hurt you.”

Honey came toward the fence, then circled around and stopped, looking back over the hill, focusing on the distance and scuffing the grass again.

Stevie frowned. Where was Sugar? Why would Will only take one of the animals in? It didn’t make sense.

Without thinking about what she was doing, she slipped through the rails into the paddock. She felt a seam in her skirt give way as she went, and when she got to the other side the heels of her new pumps sank
into the soft ground.
Uh-oh, Mom’s not going to be happy about this.

Up close, Honey’s agitation was even more obvious than before. Stevie tried to get close enough to give her a comforting pat, but the animal would have none of it, shying away and moving farther up the hill. Again Stevie approached, and again Honey retreated a few feet, stopping to snort and paw at the grass.

Stevie had never seen a horse act quite like this and wasn’t sure what to make of it. “What’s wrong, girl?”

As if in answer, the mare trotted away, this time out of sight down the other side of the hill.

Stevie was perplexed. Curiosity got the better of her and she walked over the rise to see what the animal was up to. To her surprise and delight, she immediately spotted Sugar standing by the edge of the pond with her head bowed. Honey was beside her.

“Well, where have you been?” she asked. She made her way down, the ground sucking at her shoes with each step. “Feeling antisocial?”

This time Honey didn’t try to avoid her touch, but snorted loudly.

“Take it easy, girl.”

Not wanting Sugar to feel neglected, Stevie began
to stroke her chest. “Hi there, sleepyhead. Too tired to come and say hello to me?” she chided.

The animal shivered. Strangely, Stevie got the impression it was with fear and not with pleasure.

She frowned. Sugar’s coat felt wet beneath her fingers. As she pulled her hand away, a flash of lightning illuminated the night.

Stevie screamed. Her hand was covered in blood. Startled, she staggered back a step, her heel caught in the ground, and she sat down hard on her backside. She scrambled to her feet, overwhelmed with concern. Sugar was hurt. She needed to find out how badly.

Questions raced through her mind.
Has the blood flow stopped or is she still bleeding? Is an artery involved? How long ago did this happen?

Murmuring words of comfort, she moved closer, then crouched down, trying to get a look at how bad the situation was. The darkness hampered her vision. With the utmost gentleness she began to run her hands over the mare. Her fingers glided from the horse’s chest down her front leg, looking for the wound. She found it, high on the inside of the left foreleg—a ragged cut that was not only still bleeding but was actually pulsing blood.

It was clearly a major injury, and from the way Sugar
was hanging her head, Stevie had to assume the worst. It had happened a while ago.

She tried not to panic. She knew she had to keep her wits about her. There was no time to run for help. If she didn’t slow the bleeding, Sugar might die.

I need to make a tourniquet.

Her fingers trembled as she struggled to undo the clasp on her cummerbund. Finally it came loose. She was about to tie it over the wound but hesitated. There was no way the slippery taffeta was going to bind the gash tight enough to do the job. She would need added pressure to stem the blood flow, especially if she planned on walking the animal back to the farmhouse. She placed her thumb three inches above the gash, pressing hard on the artery. The blood flow stopped. Unfortunately, there was no way she could walk all the way back to the barn in that position.

If only Carole were here
, she thought.
She’d know what to do. But Carole is out West with nothing more serious to worry about than where to go on her next trail ride.

Stevie’s mind conjured up a wistful picture of her Saddle Club friends as she had last seen them on the ranch—her, Lisa, Carole, Kate, and Christine laughing and joking under sunny skies.

Her mind seized on something.
Christine Lonetree.
During the visits they had shared, Christine had taught the girls all manner of interesting lore from her American Indian heritage. One of them had been a simple emergency technique to slow bleeding.

Relinquishing her hold on Sugar’s leg, Stevie stumbled toward the pond. Her shoes hampered her even worse in the soft mud by the edge, so she kicked them off impatiently and got down on her hands and knees, her fingers groping through the silt and shallow water. “Come on, come on, come on,” she muttered. Finally she found what she was looking for. She pulled out a smooth round stone, which glistened wetly by the light of the moon.

“Perfect!”

She scrambled back to the injured horse and grabbed her cummerbund. Quickly she rolled the stone into the center, then, pressing it against the artery above the wound, tied it tightly into place. The rock would maintain direct pressure and stem the flow of blood almost as well as if she were holding it with her thumb.

She double-checked to make sure the tourniquet was as tight as she could make it, then climbed to her feet. “All right, Sugar, let’s get you home.”

Easier said than done. The mare was lethargic from
shock and blood loss and was reluctant to move. For a few nasty moments Stevie didn’t think she was going to be able to get her going, then Honey came to the rescue. With a sympathetic nicker and a few insistent nudges, she urged her friend into a slow walk.

To Stevie, who worried and fretted with every step and passing minute, the trip back to the main house seemed to last forever. Finally they made it into the soft steady glow of the porch light.